


Lucky Number

by Twisted_Barbie



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, F/M, M/M, Speed Dating, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:21:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22719826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Barbie/pseuds/Twisted_Barbie
Summary: Speed dating isn't for everyone
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 6
Kudos: 131





	Lucky Number

**Author's Note:**

> This story was born from the mind of someone who spends too long on a subreddit known as r/niceguys. Written in 8 hours after a 6 month hiatus so go easy on me and happy Valentine's day x

He barely recognises himself in the reflection of the mirror. His long black hair is tied in a ponytail and his long beard is gone, trimmed to a centimetre below his chin when it once reached his belt. At least he won’t be mistaken for an Extinct Rebellion activist again and hadn’t that been an experience using the London underground. 

He pulls back the left sleeve of his black blazer to peer at a bare wrist. Do not exude wealth, the book had advised. Necklaces, rings, watches, earrings or even expensive cufflinks would attract the wrong mate. Given his age, the book had warned, he would already attract the wrong mate in the form of single mothers with a high body count and low value. It seemed a harsh assessment, but a friend of his swore by Thranduil Greenleaf’s book and had even sent him the link. It only had two stars on Amazon but Dwalin had assured him it was only because Thranduil spoke the truth in a world that no longer wished to hear it. It had gotten Dwalin a partner and after years of celibacy he felt he deserved a partner too. 

He gives himself one final look in the mirror. Unbuttoned black blazer with a button-up black shirt with the top two buttons undone as a show of confidence of his own appearance. Ladies love confidence, the book said, but beware as it walks a fine line between arrogance. His black trousers are new and inexpensive as are his black shoes. He doubts his entire outfit exceeds the value of £200. Don’t try too hard but at least look presentable. If you were to meet her parents dressed as you are, how would you feel? The book had asked and he thinks he has cleaned up nicely, even if he does feel bare without a watch. He doesn’t own a watch that doesn’t have an eye-watering price, so he chose to go without as the book suggests. He is the prize, not his bank account. 

He tries a smile but it appeared to be more of a painful grimace and so he turns away from the mirror before he could talk himself out of it. Speed-dating at his age, he shakes his head and exits his bedroom. It hadn’t been his idea, he’d rather stay in, drink beer and watch the UFC but his nephews said that was no way to spend Valentine’s Day and they had signed him up without his consent. 

He walks down the stairs and into the kitchen and longingly eyes the glass of white wine on the kitchen top. The book warned against drinking, as he must keep a clear head, as the jackals would capitalise on any weakness. The author’s opinion on women was quite terrible come to think of it, especially in regards to single mothers. He wonders what Thranduil Greenleaf would have to say about him, a single father? Probably something favourable, since Thranduil himself was a single father. 

The music turns off upstairs and then he hears the thundering footfalls of his nephews as they descend down the stairs and into the kitchen. Fili is in front, the elder by three years, his shoulder length blond hair is combed back and braided as is both sides of his moustache. Thankfully his beard is shorter than his own so he was unable to braid that. He’s still waiting for him to come out as an activist but Fili assures him it’s just a look that’s “Gucci” which he doubts had anything to do with a luxury Italian fashion brand. His black trousers are ironed as is the black shirt that is tucked into them and only open at the collar. 

Kili has made less of an effort wearing trainers, skinny jeans and a white shirt that has a hole on the shoulder. He’s combed his straight long brown hair at least but he won’t shave as he thinks his stubble makes him look manly. He guesses it doesn’t matter as his smile alone could break a thousand hearts- had broken a thousand hearts. If only Fili would use his boyish good looks as mercilessly as Kili did he doubts he would still be single. 

“Looking good Uncle.” Kili teases, he can practically see the mirth in his brown eyes. 

“And you’ve made zero effort, good job.” 

“Out of the three of us, which one isn’t single?” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Well?” He attempts to answer when he notices Fili drinking the glass of wine. 

“You better not be driving.” He warns. 

“As if, we’ve got a taxi booked and if I don’t get lucky at least the fare screwed me.” 

“You’ve got a taxi? Are you off out together?” 

“Yeah, I’m third-wheeling.” Fili almost sounds proud. 

“Right,” Kili agrees. “Until Sigrid gets to the club.” He teases and raises his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Sigrid?” He asks, heaping on the embarrassment but regretfully Fili seems unbothered. 

“It’s whatever,” Fili says with a shrug. “If I luck out with Sigrid, her dad is pretty hot.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. 

“Shame, Fili, have you any?” He asks.

“Not a bit of it.” He believes it. He looks at the clock on the kitchen wall and huffs out a sigh of resignation. 

“Have you got your house keys?” He asks while patting his own pockets for his key. It was usually on a keychain with his car and office keys, but it would give the wrong impression if he were to retrieve them from his pocket while on a date, and so he had taken it off. The Shire Inn was within the local vicinity, a ten-minute walk at best but he had never been as Erebor was only five minutes and the owner was not only a good friend but a relative too. 

“Yes Uncle,” they both sing in perfect tune with one another. 

“Kili, behave. Fili, good luck, and lock the door behind you.”

“Don’t wait up,” and “Knock ‘em dead.” Sound encouragingly behind him as he leaves the house. He has no money on him, and only the one bank card as the book suggested. He’d even purchased a new wallet as his had a crease in the leather from when it was overstuffed with cash. 

He hasn’t given himself much time as it was a quarter to nine when he left and the event started at nine. He didn’t want to be there early and appear desperate, on time is fine, on time is dependable but early is weakness so the book says. The book even suggests turning up late to get the measure of the woman, but this was not a date and he could not be late or he would lose his place. 

He walks briskly along the streets and hopes he is not about to enter a sausage party. He knows the statistics regarding male to female ratios on dating websites but speed dating was not covered. He hoped meeting in person in a controlled setting would appeal to the ladies and in the very least he would walk away with a phone number. 

The Shire Inn is a quaint grey brick building with flowerboxes on the square wood-framed windows and lantern lights hang above the door and sign. There is a welcome mat in the doorway and pegs for coats, he doesn’t know why he wipes his feet before opening a secondary door and entering the establishment. The bar is to the right and made from the same brick as the building and topped with sturdy oak spanning at least three metres. There’s a passageway that leads to the toilets and a wooden door that possibly leads outside to a smoking area. In the right corner is a brick fireplace with logs burning. Two tables close by it with a scattering of chairs and a long cushion seat against the wall. To the left is a pool table and jukebox and a grandfather clock and beyond that there appears to be another room. 

He approaches the bar and orders a coke on tab as he has five minutes yet. He turns his back to the bar and notices the sign directing speeddaters into the room beyond. He turns back, says his name for the tab and collects his glass and walks into the back room. There is a menu board on the left wall so he assumes this is used as the dining area. There are fifteen round tables seating two a table positioned in a circle with numbered wooden spoons in jam jars. 

“Good evening sir,” a young man with a brown bowl-cut greets him at the door. “Could I take your name?”

“Thorin Oakenshield.” The man walks over to a cashier desk and reads from a book. 

“Number one, here you go,” he says passing him a sticker with the number one on. He accepts it and sticks it onto his blazer to the left. “You’ve already paid so if you would like to take your seat at table one and we will begin shortly.” He tells him seemingly enthused; he can’t relate. 

He takes his seat at table one and looks around again. There are women here seated at the back of the room, their number almost doubling that of the men present, which, counting himself amounts to fourteen as number seven’s table is empty. Sickness or nerves? He gives it no more thought as the door to the room closes and the man with the bowl-cut rings a bell. 

“Can I have your attention?” He asks and the ladies at the back quiet down as the men were seated too far from each other to strike up conversation. “Hi, my name is Ori and I’d just like to thank you all for the huge turnout tonight. Because of the demand this event will run for two hours instead of the advertised one and there will be a fifteen-minute interval, if anyone has a problem or needs to leave before then please let me know.” He waits expectantly but no one speaks up. “Great! So, rules. Men, no names and ladies first names only. You have five minutes and when the bell rings, ladies must get up and move to the table on your right. Each woman has fifteen numbered cards pertaining to the men. Depending how the date went they could leave a message or phone number for the lucky man. All cards will be gathered at the end and given out. Any questions?” A silent pause. “Very well, ladies if you’ll take your seat and we’ll begin.” 

He hears the clopping of heels as the ladies come to take their seats. The first to sit at his table is a bottle blonde with too much make-up hiding her aging face. If he could say pass, he would. The bell rings and the woman extends her hand revealing long red false nails. He takes her hand and shakes it only to be polite. He doesn’t need the book’s teaching for this as he doesn’t feel anything towards her. 

“I’m Cassandra,” he nods as he cannot say his name nor does he want to. “I’m a beautician.” There’s lipstick on her teeth. “The strong silent type, I like that.” He imagines she’d like anything with a pulse.

“I’m not interested.” He says bluntly and she sits back.

“Wow.” He shrugs in response. Would she prefer him to lie? 

The next four minutes drag and it is a relief when the bell rings and Cassandra leaves and another woman takes her place. Old again but content to show the signs of age. Where Cassandra tried too hard this woman didn’t try hard enough. He could respect that, take me as I am, but he would have appreciated a little effort. 

Her name is Daisy. She’s a full-time carer for her ailing mother. Her father died in a car accident that left her mother crippled when she was six. She had to grow up quickly while missing out on life. The Shire Inn was her local, she had never done anything like this before. She didn’t know why she was doing this and that he could understand. 

The bell rings and it’s more of the same, advancing years, fading looks and a last-ditch attempt for someone stable and on their terms. His interest is only peaked when a brunette sits across from him with brown eyes, pale skin, full lips and a cute button nose. 

“I’m Kelly, thirty-two and I’m a school teacher.” Attractive and smart, Thranduil would probably put her at a nine with high social value. Normally he would praise and compliment at this point but that is his approach and it hasn’t worked for him. Instead he remembers Thranduil’s teaching about giving a backhanded compliment and taking back control and making her earn his approval. 

“Must be stressful, is that why your roots are grey? I couldn’t do it, my hat’s off to you.” Kelly raises her right hand and he sees her nails are bitten as she reaches for her head then aborts the attempt and pushes her hair behind her ear. 

“Thanks, I think.” She says warily. “What do you do?” 

“I work in a bank.” He says without detail knowing he’d see money signs in her eyes if he revealed that he was the manager. “Do you go to a gym?” He asks and her eyes alight in joy. 

“No, why do you ask?” She asks preening.

“I didn’t think so,” her face falls at that. “With such a voluptuous frame, more to love.” Her arms cross defensively. 

“How old are you?” 

“Fifty.”

“Act like it.” The bell rings and Kelly storms off, as it is time for an interval. He stays seated as the women leave and some of the men follow only to use the bathroom as fraternizing isn’t allowed. He orders another coke from the waitress that comes to collect the glasses and sits back regretting his decision to come. Kelly was nice but not exactly what he was looking for. Were pickings so slim he had to settle? Knowing what he was looking for was half the battle and he hadn’t a clue. It was good to see Dwalin so happy, maybe he wanted a piece of that, but Dwalin was miserable before and he wouldn’t say he was. Stressed, overworked, yes but miserable? 

His drink comes and he regrets not ordering something stronger. He mentions the tab and gives his name and she goes on her way. What was he looking for? He’d know it when he found it and what if he didn’t find it? Was it really so terrible to be alone? 

The bell rings calling everyone back in and then once more to start proceedings. The ladies this time are crass and ugly because of it. He assumes that they have been drinking in the waiting area because if that is their real opinion then Tinder was much better suited for them. Thranduil would say they had no social value worth lowering and only consider them for a ‘pump and dump.’ He didn’t know what exactly he wanted but that wasn’t it. If he only desired to get his dick wet then he would hire a professional. 

The hour drags by and the women’s name bleed into one another. No one stood out. No one was special. When it ends, the ladies leave handing in their cards while the men wait at their tables. He doesn’t like this power dynamic, or the gender segregation, it makes him feel like an animal. 

Ori comes to him first and with a sheepish expression he places one card down onto his table and quickly moves away to table two. Surprised, he lifts the card and finds one word scrawled angrily in red. Asshole. He puts it into his pocket and leaves the dining area and back into the bar. He looks at the grandfather clock and sees it is just past eleven. The barman eyes him warily as he eyes the door as if he would run out on his tab. He could pay and leave but he’s not sure he could live with the shame if Fili and Kili were still home. 

He approaches the bar and sees it is an L shape and he takes a seat on the lone barstool on the corner to suggest he does not desire company. “Whiskey,” he says to the barman. He’s not given a choice as there isn’t one, and a whiskey is set down in front of him. He takes a sip and shrugs at the taste before knocking it all back and signalling for another. He nurses his second glass as he still feels the burn from the first and discreetly watches the men slowly filter out of the dining area. Some appear dejected while others appear excited. Only one stops at the bar, a small man with short tussled dirty blond hair and brown eyes. If he’s dressed to impress, he doesn’t show it in his burgundy sweater and brown corduroy trousers. He looks down expecting to see sandals with white socks but instead he finds sensible shoes and exceptionally large feet. At least he had something potentially going for him. The man takes a white card from his pocket and turns it over huffing out a pent-up laugh before returning it to his pocket. 

“No luck?” He startles himself by asking and takes the man by surprise as well. The man recovers with an amicable smile.

“The perils of being short,” he laughs humourlessly and takes the card from his pocket and turns it over for him to see. It’s a smiley face drawn in blue biro, hardly worth the time it took or the hope it had inspired. It’s quite vindictive and strangely he feels sorry for him.

“I didn’t realise we were playing top trumps.” He replies taking his own card from his pocket and turns it over showing the stranger. 

“Ouch,” the man replies sympathetically and he returns the card to his pocket. “You were in there?” He continues to ask surprised. He turns and points to the sticker that was still on his blazer. 

“Number one.” 

“I’m fourteen.” He holds his hand out in greeting and he shakes it. 

“Misery loves company, can I get you a drink?” It’s almost as if his mouth is working separately from his mind. Hadn’t he chosen this seat to avoid company? Fourteen scrutinises him for longer than necessary but for a moment he enjoyed being centre of his universe. 

“Sure Misery, I’m Bilbo.” It’s such a daft thing to say he’s not sure why he laughs. 

“Was that a Dad joke?” He says half in jest and half prying. 

“It was,” Bilbo admits bashfully. 

“Are you a dad?” He asks bluntly. 

“Yes, no…well yes.” 

“Two children and one you’re not sure of?” He jests enjoying Bilbo becoming flustered. 

“A nephew, like a son but not a son. I haven’t officially adopted him nor would I. He had parents, great parents, but they died.” He pauses to look at him sheepishly. “Well this conversation took a turn and I apologise for that.” 

“If that was your opening line, I can see why you didn’t do so well.” 

“Oh no, I only use death for serious flirting.” His cheeks colour at that confession and to his own surprise he doesn’t mind if they are flirting. 

“So, drink?” He offers once again to settle Bilbo’s nerves and he sees the man’s shoulders relax. 

“A cup of tea please.” 

“Do they do that here?” 

“It’s not on the board but the Gaffer is an old friend.”

“Coming right up,” the barman- the Gaffer says with a smirk clearly eavesdropping on their conversation. 

“The walls have ears here.” Bilbo whispers after seeing his shock after the Gaffer’s interruption. “Would you like to sit by the fire?” Would he? Would he give the wrong impression if he were to sit with him? What was the wrong impression, because the more he saw of Bilbo the more he liked. Fuck it, it’s 2020. 

“Sure.” The Gaffer is gone presumably to make the tea so he collects his glass and walks over to the fire and takes a seat on the long cushioned seat allowing Bilbo to sit next to him or across from him. He chooses the latter, and sits on a rickety old wooden chair that has seen better days. 

“Do you have any kids?” Bilbo asks and thanks the barman as he sets his tea down and walks away. 

“Two, nephews, not unlike your story actually.” He hadn’t officially adopted Fili and Kili and nor would he. He was a relative and adoption had a stigma about it that made him think the biological parents were deadbeats and they weren’t. 

“How old? My Frodo is twenty and still lives at home.” 

“Fili is the eldest at twenty-six and Kili is twenty-three and they both live at home.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way. It gets kinda lonely. I’m a freelance writer and don’t get out much. It’s like I put my head down to write and the next minute I’m fifty.” He can only stare at him surprised by how much they had in common. “If I’m oversharing please stop me.” 

“It’s not that, it’s just like we’ve been living parallel lives.” 

“You’re a writer?” Bilbo asks excitedly and he feels guilty to disappoint him. 

“No, bank manager.” Thranduil would be pulling his hair out, or maybe not, his techniques seemed to be towards ladies only. There are no money signs in those brown orbs and he’s slightly disappointed himself. “Are you not impressed?” He asks, fishing. 

“Well you never specified what kind of bank. For all I know it could be a sperm bank.” Bilbo teases and takes a drink. 

“Could I interest you in making a deposit?” He can feel the heat rush to his cheeks as they burn in embarrassment. This is why he chose not to flirt because he is terrible at it. 

Bilbo sets his cup down and his eyes drag down his body, undressing him. He’s not unaccustomed to appreciative looks but his heated stare was practically sexual to his neglected body and he felt his cock stir with interest as Bilbo delicately ran his tongue against his lower lip. 

“Maybe.” 

“Is it true what they say about big feet?” He continues shamelessly as his first line worked in his favour. 

“Why don’t you find out?” Bilbo challenges. 

“Come here then.” He pats the cushion beside him and despite the heavy flirtation he is still surprised when Bilbo stands up, a whole five foot nothing and sexy as hell, and takes a seat beside him. He’s on him in an instant, capturing one of those sinful lips between his teeth before delving his tongue into his mouth. He fears he has come on much too strong, until he feels Bilbo’s hands clutching at his shirt and pulling him closer as he deepens the kiss. It isn’t the first time he had kissed a male, attending a boy’s boarding school pickings were slim and you’d take what you could get. It is, however, the first time he has felt there could be more there than just a satisfactory finish. 

He puts his hand onto Bilbo’s thigh only to press his luck as Bilbo recoils from him, breaking the kiss and covering his mouth in disbelief. “I am so sorry, I’m not usually like that.” He wipes at his own lips savouring the taste as he doubts he will sample it again. Bilbo turns from him in a fluster, taking something from his pocket, he can’t be sure and he isn’t interested to know as he’s too busy trying to see if anyone was watching. 

“Thank you for the drink,” Bilbo says and stands up. His cup is still half full. “I have to get back to Frodo, it was nice meeting you.” He doesn’t even know his name; he opens his mouth to give him at least that but the man is gone leaving behind a white card with a smiley face. 

“Bilbo!” He calls out but he does not return. He picks up the fallen card thinking to keep it as a memento when he finds writing on the other side where it was once blank. It’s a hastily written phone number with the words ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ written beneath it. He smiles to himself and pockets the card and finishes his drink.

Happy Valentine’s day indeed.


End file.
